


Ain't No Rest

by evening_spirit



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evening_spirit/pseuds/evening_spirit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a prompt: <em>What is Steve most irrationally terrified of (we know it's not heights, being shot at, or blowing things up). Make it happen.<em></em></em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Rest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McParrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McParrot/gifts).



> Um. Hi. You have probably forgotten that you made this prompt... What can I do, I'm a slow writer. But here it is, finally. :)
> 
> Betaed by BigJ52

“Oh! Yeah!” Danny pants with his last breath and grips Steve’s hipbones and he feels that the world is this beautiful, wonderful, ecstatic place, to the point where he’s barely able to contain it and then he bursts and shatters and gives off a small whimper because he’s happy. So happy.

A little more effort and Steve joins him in bliss and then they fall to the mattress, spent, breathing hard, eyes shining. Danny drinks in the sight of Steve in this state, because it’s so rare that he doesn’t wear a frown on his face, or that determined mask. Tears prickle in Danny’s eyes and he blinks them away, because he’s not a girl and a good orgasm shouldn’t make him so sensitive.

He traces his tired finger from Steve’s temple, down the side of his face, to the jawbone. He’s weary. His eyes are already at half-mast and through the delightful fog that slowly wraps his brain in sleep he feels a soft kiss on his cheek and the bed dips in a characteristic way, sheets ruffle and he’s left with a cold space next to him.

He jolts awake.

The door to the bathroom is already clicking shut, quietly, so as not to disturb him. Too late, Danny’s disturbed already, has been disturbed enough times to let it slide again.

Thing is, he doesn’t like that every time they have sex, he falls asleep alone. And he wakes alone. When they don’t have sex... Well, Danny tries to remember a night when they went to bed without having sex and he can’t, but there are nights they spend separately, like when Grace is at his place, or when they work till morning. And he has never, not ever watched Steve fall asleep. He knows Steve sleeps, because he slides into bed at some point during the night, but then, Danny barely wakes, clings to him and drifts off again, only to surface briefly when Steve slides out, leaving him with a kiss on his temple and a soft, “Hush, sleep, Danno.” He’s certain it’s still dark outside when Steve does that. It can’t be healthy.

Steve takes his time in the bathroom. Navy shower my ass, Danny thinks, propping himself up against the headboard. He’ll wait. Well, alright, water isn’t running and when it finally starts, it’s brief, but then Steve doesn’t emerge from the bathroom for a time long enough for Danny’s eyes to start closing again. The click of the lock wakes him and he meets Steve’s startled gaze dead-on.

“Uh,” Steve says eloquently, then, at Danny’s incredulous stare he finds words. “Thought you were asleep already.”

“Yeah? And what were you going to do?” Danny has a tirade on the tip of his tongue, all the ‘wanted to trace Wo Fat?’, or ‘go swimming in the night, are you insane?’, or ‘do you have a girl on the side, or what?’, but he wants Steve to talk for a change, so he forces his jaw shut, bites his tongue, almost literally.

Steve glances at the door leading to the staircase, makes an indistinct gesture with his hand and states, “Wanted to get a glass of water.”

“And then you’re coming here?” Danny asks. “To sleep?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters but he doesn’t lift his eyes to his partner.

Danny doesn’t reply and when Steve moves to go downstairs after a stretch of silence, he braces himself for as long as it’ll take to wait. 

It takes longer than he can handle.

He doesn’t want to be angry at Steve. He feels deep inside that it’s a delicate matter, something he should handle with care, like fine Chinese porcelain. Steve’s _issues_ will give him more gray hair than Grace’s boyfriends, he sometimes thinks. But right now he _is_ angry. He’s tired and sleepy and why doesn’t he get to fall asleep and wake up in the arms of his man? Is it too much to ask?

“What’s with you?” He storms into the kitchen with accusation on his lips.

Steve sits at the table, methodically wiping mist from a glass full of water and he looks lost.

Danny falls on the chair opposite from him and runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t understand,” he blurts.

“What do you want from me?” Steve snaps and glares up, all barriers up, full-force.

“What do I-- I don’t know! Maybe for you to come to bed, is that strange? Damn it, Steve, when have you fallen asleep with me?”

Steve springs to his feet instead of answering and puts the glass down on the counter with a thud and a spill.

“I’m going for a swim,” he says.

“Oh, no, you’re not!” Danny blocks his way. “You’re talking to me. If you think you’re getting out of it this easily, you’re greatly mistaken, mister. You are talking to me, and you are telling me _right now_ what the fuck is going on with you, because I won’t have you hiding and running away, no more. So sit! Damn it, sit down, Steven, or I swear I will... What?”

Danny didn’t notice when Steve evaded his pressure. He smirks now, that stupid smirk he’s always wearing whenever Danny runs at his mouth. And that only makes Danny’s blood boil.

“What the hell are you thinking? That I don’t care, or what? That I don’t have feelings? We’re supposed to be a couple! Are we? Or am I wrong, am I just a good lay? Is that it? Is that all? Are we only having sex and you can’t bear being in bed with me afterwards? What, am I disgusting? Talk to me, Steven, damn it, talk to me!”

Steve has stopped smiling and is looking at Danny all serious now, his ever-present frown in place.

“It’s not you, Danny,” he says quietly, meeting his eyes without a quiver.

Danny falls silent.

Steve swallows, blinks, shakes his head, looks away.

“Talk to me,” Danny pleads. Begs.

“I--" Steve’s voice refuses to cooperate. He sounds like someone is gripping his vocal cords and Danny places a hand on his bicep, because he thinks it’ll help.

Steve flinches.

“Let’s go to bed,” he says.

He does not look at Danny.

Danny follows him upstairs but he thinks -- he _knows_ \-- the problem is not solved. He fears it is all going to backfire. Spectacularly. And he dreads that moment.

They lay down -- next to each other. Not wrapped in each other, like Danny would want to, not clinging, holding, _together_. Steve’s breathing through his nose and the sound hurts Danny’s ears. He knows Steve is tense without touching him. He’s afraid to reach out now, to speak up, for fear of spooking him and he waits for events to unfold, all sleepiness forgotten.

It takes all of two minutes, no more, for Steve to bolt up, panting, almost choking. “I can’t!” he blurts, tries to stand and falls to his knees, clawing at his throat.

“Steve!” Danny is next to him so fast he must have broken the sound barrier. “What? Steve? Talk to me, man, please.” He’s more frantic than Steve right now and Steve is glaring at him with eyes wide and round like a golden dollar, his mouth hanging open and he’s gasping for breath, clearly terrified. Danny tries to put together two concepts that just won’t fit in one sentence. Steve. Is having a panic attack.

“Easy,” he whispers. He has experience dealing with people in shock and panic attack isn’t so different. What makes it bizarre is that it’s Steve, the Navy SEAL who’s afraid of nothing, so how...? “Easy, Steve, breathe.”

“I,” Steve whimpers, still clawing at his throat, “can’t.”

This is wrong. 

“It’s alright.”

It can’t be happening.

Danny closes his eyes and steels himself. He needs to be calm himself if he wants to help Steve; he needs to control himself in order to help Steve regain control. He opens his eyes, takes in the damp locks sticking to Steve’s forehead, the sheen of sweat on his cheeks, pale lips, frightened stare. 

“You’re alright,” he states firmly. “Something scared you, but it’s not gonna hurt you.”

“I know, Danny.” Steve’s voice resembles a sob more than anything else and, added to that, small tears run out of the corners of his eyes. “’m tryin’.”

“It’s good. You’re doing good. In and out. Take it easy. Take it slow. You can do it.” Danny keeps repeating all the nonsense and Steve is gradually getting better, breathing slower, his eyes lose their sharpness and are only tired now, gray with exhaustion. He’s shivering and Danny pulls the cover from the bed and wraps it around Steve’s arms and legs that are pulled up to his chin. He’s rocking inside his cocoon, turns to lean his back against the side of the bed and Danny keeps stroking his arm and his knees and he waits and waits and he’s so very sorry, because he knows his partner and he knows what has to happen now. Steve isn’t going to want to talk about it. Admitting to a weakness is something Steve McGarrett had never been taught and this, here, is the weakest Danny had probably seen him. Total loss of control, his body simply took over and he had no way to rein in his abnormal physiological responses. He’d want to forget it as soon as he can, but Danny isn’t going to let him. He can’t let him. He has to pull it all out of Steve and he has to do it now.

“Are you better?”

Steve nods and burrows his nose in the blanket.

“Want some water?”

Steve nods again.

Danny pads to the kitchen, pours a fresh glass of water, returns back upstairs. “Here.” He hands it to Steve and Steve gulps it all down in one go.

“Thanks.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Danny expected nothing else.

“But you’ll have to.”

“No,” Steve says a bit more stubbornly, like a child, like Grace would.

“I’m sorry.”

Steve says nothing.

Danny wipes his face and tries to think up a strategy. The best approach to a spooked Steve. He’s tired, he’d like to just go to sleep and give Steve some leeway here, but he pulls himself back together and he glares instead.

“It can’t go on like this--” he starts and Steve, yet again, surprises him.

“I know,” he mutters. He’s stubbornly staring ahead, but in the way he crunches his nose Danny can see that he will talk now. Apparently he needed to reach that decision himself. He takes in a breath and starts. “I can’t be still. I mean I can, when I’m on guard, or waiting for orders, I can stay unmoving for hours and not get uncomfortable. But... This...” he waves his hand.

“Resting?” Danny provides.

“Yes. I can’t.”

“You can’t rest?”

“I can. I have to, everybody has to rest sometimes.”

“Yeah, you do come to bed at the weirdest hours of the night.”

“Exactly. When I’m so tired I can’t sit straight anymore and I know I will fall asleep immediately.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you wake up.”

“Yeah.”

Steve confessed. Danny knows he won’t get more but he’s glad it was at least that. He’d never thought that going to sleep, lying in a bed could be the source of a phobia, but a human mind is the weirdest thing in the whole universe. He isn’t going to push Steve now, to tell him why, what caused this fear. He’s grateful for what Steve offered and he’s gonna go from there. He’ll need to find a way to ease Steve into falling asleep next to him, because there are pleasures in cuddling in the sheets together. More pleasures than there are things to be afraid of.

~  
.end

**Author's Note:**

> Clinophobia -- is an intense, irrational fear of going to bed. The clinophobic individual may actually fear sleeping or what happens when one sleeps. Some individuals may fear nightmares, for example, or cope with actual medical conditions such as sleep apnea. Other clinophobic individuals may be intensely fearful that they will die when they sleep. People coping with Clinophobia may avoid going to bed or will wake frequently during the night.  
> Clinophobia derives from the Greek word “klinein”, meaning to incline and “phobos” meaning fear.
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


End file.
